Chapter 8
Asher
Fight Day always started the same way. Too early.
Too quiet. My body already awake before my alarm went off, muscles tight with anticipation and my mind running through scenarios I’d trained into muscle memory.
I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling of my cabin, listening to the orchard come alive outside birds, wind through the trees and the faint hum of morning.
Control your breath. Control your thoughts.
That was rule one. By the time I stepped into the rows, the air was cool and damp, the kind that settled into your lungs and stayed there.
Everyone knew what day it was. I could feel it in the way people looked at me like they were excited, curious and proud.
“Big night,” Jonah said as he passed me a crate.
“Same as any other,” I replied.
He grinned. “Sure. Except we’re all driving to Montreal to watch you punch someone in the face.”
“Professionally,” I corrected. After Mom left, I had been an angry kid.
I got into fights at school, so Dad decided to put me into taekwondo, then jiu-jitsu.
From there it turned into MMA fighting. Turned out I was good, and I started winning tournaments.
The fighting was a good way to help me burn off steam, but I didn’t see it as my life’s passion.
The older I got, the calmer I became, but there was money in fighting, and I managed to save up a good amount for a guy my age.
Soleil laughed. “That’s a good thing.”
Claire caught my eye from across the row. She didn’t smile, not right away. Just gave me a look that said she was aware. Of the day, the high stakes. I tried not to think about how much that mattered.
By mid-morning, the conversation had fully shifted. Who was driving with whom. Where they were sitting. Whether the venue sold decent beer. Elise swore she’d scream herself hoarse. Soleil threatened to start a chant.
Jonah glanced at Claire. “Are you coming tonight?”
She hesitated. “I don’t have a ticket.”
“I’ll get you one,” I said without thinking.
Every head turned.
Claire blinked. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s fine,” I said. “I can get you in.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.”
Something settled in my chest. Something I didn’t have time to unpack.
The shift ended early, like we’d planned.
Everyone scattered to change, to shower, to get ready for the drive.
Claire lingered behind, sitting at one of the picnic tables with her laptop open, already back in research mode.
Dedicated didn’t even begin to cover it.
I headed out to meet my coach, the familiar rhythm of fight-day prep taking over.
Wraps. Check weight. Hydrate. Visualize.
My body moved through the motions easily, but my mind kept drifting back to her.
To the way she watched the orchard like she was cataloging it.
To the way she listened. To the firelight catching in her eyes.
To the fact that I was breaking my own rules just by thinking this much about her.
Don’t get involved with employees. Don’t mix work with distraction.
Don’t invite trouble closer than it already is.
Claire wasn’t just good looks, though, and that was the problem.
She was kind in quiet ways. A hard worker who didn’t complain.
Smart without being condescending. Funny when she relaxed.
And stubborn as hell when it came to finding justice for someone she loved.
That kind of dedication didn’t fade. I had to stop thinking about her.
I had a fight to prepare for and money to win.
That was the whole point of these fights get in, get paid, and move on.
I just hoped having Claire there wouldn’t be a distraction, because she was already on my mind more than she should’ve been.